A Spoonful of Memories

This morning, as I stood in the kitchen mixing up a bowl of Heavenly Hash for our upcoming family Thanksgiving, something unexpected happened. One minute I was slicing maraschino cherries, minding my own business, and the next I was remembering how I used to tie cherry stems into knots—with my tongue. It’s a ridiculous talent to keep in the family record, but there it is. And as much as I’d like to say someone glamorous taught me that trick, the truth is, it was my Daddy. Who needs Hollywood when you’ve got a Georgia man in a button-down shirt, showing his kids circus tricks with a cherry stem?

I practiced those knots like I was training for the Olympics. Daddy would cheer me on with the seriousness of a coach preparing his athlete for the big leagues. The day I finally succeeded, he laughed so hard his eyes watered. Somehow that memory floated right back to me today, sticky fingers and all.

Food does that, doesn’t it? We take one bite, catch one smell, or handle one ingredient, and suddenly we’re nowhere near our kitchens—we’re back in another time, standing next to someone we love. While I stirred my bowl of whipped cream and fruit, I remembered something else: Daddy’s obsession with sweets. The man never met a sugar product he didn’t befriend. Ambrosia was his holiday love language.

Now, Daddy’s ambrosia wasn’t exactly the same as my Heavenly Hash—his was the old-school blend, the kind that looked like a snowstorm hit a fruit cocktail. But he loved it with a devotion only Southerners reserve for college football, cornbread, and Jesus. After we grew up, Mama even started keeping a huge apothecary jar filled with Little Debbie snacks on her counter. Not because it looked pretty, not because it was convenient—no, that jar existed solely for Daddy’s sugar rations. If a grandchild dared reach in without permission, Mama would say, “Ask first. Those are Papa's.” As if he were paying rent on the treats.

I don’t know when jars of sweets and bowls of fruit mixed with whipped cream became the guardians of my memories, but today I’m grateful for it. As I sliced cherries and stirred fluff, I felt Daddy close by… like a quiet reminder that love lingers in the silliest things—recipes, traditions, and even cherry-stem party tricks.

Maybe that’s the beauty of holiday preparation. You think you’re cooking. You think you’re marking items off a list. But really, you’re opening the door to old stories, letting your heart pull up a chair at the table long before anyone else arrives.

So I’ll keep stirring, chopping, and tasting. I’ll make my Heavenly Hash, set the table, and welcome whoever walks through the door. And if someone asks why I’m smiling to myself while slicing cherries, maybe I’ll just tell them: “I’m visiting with Daddy. He showed up early in my memories this year."

---

Heavenly Father,
Thank You for the gift of memories that warm us like sunlight on a cold morning. Thank You for the people we’ve loved, the traditions that shape our families, and the ordinary moments—like stirring a bowl of dessert—that remind us we are never alone. Comfort our hearts as we remember those who shared our tables in years past, and help us honor them by loving well the ones who gather with us today. Bless our homes, our hands, and the food we prepare with joy. May gratitude season every dish, and may Your presence fill every seat at our table.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Sunday Drives

 

When I was a child, Sunday afternoons were made for rest—and sometimes for restlessness. After church and a good dinner, when we kids started getting antsy, Daddy would grin and say, “Pile in the car!” Those four words meant we were headed out on a short adventure. We never knew where we were going, and truth be told, I’m not sure Daddy did either.

 

All three of us—my brother, sister, and me—would bounce around in the backseat of our old blue Ford station wagon, back before seat belts were much of a thing. Mama and Daddy would talk softly up front while we whispered, giggled, and picked at each other until Mama’s warning came sharp and clear: “You kids better settle down or you’re gonna get a whipping.”

 

Daddy always had a cigarette hanging from his lips, and before long, the smoke would swirl thick through the car. One of us would holler, “Daddy, it stinks!” and he’d just smile, telling us to roll down the window. The cool breeze would rush in, washing away the smell, and we’d stick our faces close to the glass, watching fields of cows roll by or the occasional tractor lumbering down a dirt road.

 

After an hour or so, one of us would inevitably whine, “Daddy, I gotta go!” He’d nod and say, “We’ll stop at the next gas station,” but somehow we never did. Unless it was a real emergency, we had to hold it until we made it home. On the rare occasion he actually stopped, Mama would go inside to ask for the bathroom key, which was always attached to some odd contraption—a hubcap, a cinder block, or a chunk of wood—to keep it from being stolen.

 

Those Sunday drives didn’t take us anywhere fancy, but they were full of laughter, love, and the kind of togetherness you don’t find much anymore. We didn’t need a destination; the joy was in the going.

Today, after church and lunch, I got a little bored and looked over at my husband. “Wanna take a Sunday drive?” I asked. He smiled just like Daddy used to and said, “Let’s go.”

 

We drove with no plan in mind, just letting the road lead us where it wanted. We saw a shimmering rainbow arching across the sky, a quiet river lined with trees still holding on to their last bits of fall color, and—of course—a field full of cows grazing lazily in the afternoon light.

 

As the car rolled along, my heart swelled with joy. For a moment, it felt like I was that little girl again—hair flying in the breeze, laughter bubbling up from the backseat, and the world wide open before me.

Life moves so fast now that we rarely take time to just “go.” We think every trip must have a purpose, every moment must be productive. But sometimes, the sweetest blessings come when we simply take the road less planned and let God steer. Those quiet rides remind me that joy isn’t found in the destination—it’s found in the journey and in the company we keep.

 

Dear Lord, thank You for the simple joys—family, laughter, and the beauty that surrounds us. Help us slow down and notice the everyday miracles You place along our path. Teach us to trust the journey, even when we don’t know where it’s headed, and to treasure every mile we travel with the ones we love. Amen.

Daddy's Resourcefulness

 

Growing up, I don’t think I ever saw my Daddy stumped by a problem. He could fix anything—from a tractor that wouldn’t turn over to a squeaky door hinge that drove Mama crazy. He had a knack for looking at a problem, scratching his chin for a moment, and then figuring out some clever solution out of thin air.

 

One Sunday afternoon, our toilet started leaking. Now, back then, hardware stores didn’t open on Sundays, and Daddy knew that if he waited until Monday to fix it, the five of us would be in for a long and miserable evening. A house with no working toilet? Unthinkable.

 

So, he did what Daddy always did: he figured something out.

 

Unbeknownst to me, his “something” involved one of my favorite pairs of shoes—a soft suede pair of moccasins that I adored. Daddy must have eyed them sitting by the back door and thought, that leather will do just fine. He took one shoe, cut a small piece from the tongue, and made himself a washer to stop the leak. Toilet fixed. Problem solved.

 

The next morning, I was getting ready for school. I slipped into my hip-hugger bell bottoms, pulled on my peasant blouse, and went to put on my moccasins. That’s when I saw it. The tongue on one shoe looked like a mouse had chewed on it. I let out a holler that could’ve woken the dead, accusing my siblings left and right.

 

Daddy sat at the kitchen table, sipping his coffee, not saying a word. Just smiling to himself.

Mama turned around from the stove and gave him that look—one every Southern husband knows well. 

 

“What did you do, Honey?”

 

That’s when he confessed, grinning sheepishly. “Well, the toilet was leaking, and I needed a washer. I figured that leather was just right for the job. I cut it out where she could still wear the shoes. Nobody’d ever notice.”

 

Except, of course, I did notice.

 

I was mad for a while, but deep down, even then, I admired the way Daddy’s mind worked. He could take nothing and turn it into something useful. He didn’t need manuals or fancy parts—just a little bit of common sense and a whole lot of confidence.

 

Over the years, I’ve caught myself doing the same thing—improvising fixes, making do, and figuring it out as I go. Whenever I pull off one of my own “creative repairs,” I can almost see Daddy smiling that same quiet smile, coffee cup in hand.

 

I guess you could say he didn’t just fix things—he passed down a way of thinking. And I’ll always be proud to be his daughter.

 

Heavenly Father,

Thank You for the gift of resourcefulness, and for the simple wisdom You often hide in the hearts of everyday people like my Daddy. Thank You for the memories that remind me of his steady hands and his quiet confidence. Help me to carry that same spirit of faith, patience, and creativity into my own life. And when I’m faced with problems that seem too big to fix, remind me that You are the ultimate Creator—the One who can make something beautiful out of anything.

Amen.

A husband just like that

I'm so blessed! I was thinking about it today and realized, I have a husband who's just like my Daddy. I never dreamed I'd get one, you see, the first two husbands were completely the opposite. I guess that's why those marriages didn't work out, among other reasons. If I'd known what to look for in a mate to begin with, I'd probably have picked a good one, but I was young and hadn't a clue. Thankfully, after a couple of bad apples, I've got the solid gold one. 

My Daddy was a hard worker. Most of my childhood he worked two jobs. And they weren't easy jobs, they were very physically demanding jobs. He'd be so exhausted when he came home from work that he'd collapse in his favorite chair and sit there trying to unwind before time to go to bed and do it all again the next day. 

He never was concerned with material possessions for himself but wanted to provide whatever his family needed. That meant he often went with holes in his shoes or socks because he'd wear them out until my mother would coax him into letting her get him another pair. He was so giving. 

My husband is the same way. He never asks for anything materially, but if I want or need something, he'll do whatever it takes to give it to me. Sometimes I even have to tell him no because I don't ever want to be one of "those wives" who constantly take. 

Many men are exactly the opposite. They put their needs ahead of their mates. Instead of loving, honoring, and cherishing them like the Bible tells them to do, they push their wives to the side. Those are the kind of guys I first married. 

Sometimes I sit and watch my husband with more admiration that he could ever understand in my eyes. What I see is a man who loves the Lord with all His heart, a man who dotes on his wife and give her unconditional love all the time. 

Every once in a while I wonder how I got so lucky. He's definitely a rare find and a precious gem to me. 

I wish I'd know what to look for in a husband all those years  ago. My life would have been vastly different than it is now. I'm glad my Daddy was a man of integrity and valor. His quiet strength will always speak volumes to me. And I wish I'd encouraged my daughters to find a man like that, but I didn't realize how valuable a gift it was until recently. If I'd thought about it, I'd have talked to them long and hard about the qualities a good man should have but they're all married now. I pray their mates are as good to them as mine is because I want each of them to have a husband like that.

Father's Day Memories

 

Daddy was a Sergeant 1st Class

I miss my Daddy every Father's Day. He was one of the most unique people I ever knew. Though quiet and pensive most of the time, the wheels of his mind were constantly turning. How do I know? I watched him like a hawk. 

I learned so much from watching my Daddy. As I grew up, I found one of the best ways to gain his time and attention was to be where he was. If he was under a car, working on something like changing the oil, I crawled under with him asking him a million questions - "What are you doing, Daddy?" "Why are you doing that?" Usually, he'd let me ask away without answering. 

Occasionally, he'd ask me to hand him a tool. If I knew what it was, he'd smile and not say a word, but if I messed up, he'd let me know. Needless to say, I wanted to please him so I learned very quickly the names of tools and how to use them. 

Daddy loved to tinker. He'd take things apart and put them back together again just to see how they worked. His Father had been an inventor and held several patents, so I guess Daddy came by his curiosity naturally.

Our little family

Daddy was a simple man. He never asked for much, especially in the way of material things. I think, since he grew up without much, he learned to make do with what he had. 

But as we grew up, we learned he'd often put the needs of others before his own. He'd often go with holes in the bottoms of his shoes or wear things until they fell apart. 

He was a hard worker and a good provider. When I was growing up, he usually worked 2 jobs. With 3 little mouths to feed, money was always tight. My mother was frugal and we learned quickly that money didn't grow on trees. 

Mama & Daddy's engagement pic

We did the best we could with what we had and though money was always tight, Daddy found a way for us to take a vacation each year. 

He had a friend named Bill who owned a motel in Florida. I think Bill's last name was Reid, but I'm not positive after all these years. The motel was nothing fancy but Bill let Daddy have a room in the hotel with a small fridge for $50 a week. What a steal! I don't know how we all managed to fit into the room, but we did it every year for years. 

Back then, my brother, sister, and I didn't understand that we were technically poor, or at least lower middle class. It didn't really matter. Mama and Daddy did what they could to provide for us and we were grateful. 

Daddy enjoyed going to the drive in theater. We'd often go the Starlight Drive in. While Mama and Daddy were enjoying the movie, we'd play on the playground. 

Daddy with his cigarette

He also enjoyed watching TV after a long day at work. He'd sit and watch wrestling or baseball for hours as he smoked a cigarette and occasionally had a can of beer. The simple pleasures in life seemed to be what mattered most to Daddy. 

On weekends when he wasn't working, he'd drive fifty miles to my Granddaddy's house to help him fill contracts for a local cotton mill. All weekend long, Daddy would be out in the shop while my siblings and I played with our cousins. 

Daddy also enjoyed fishing. Once he took my brother, sister, and I on a family fishing trip he and his brothers put together. It was the first time my Daddy and Uncles had taken us kids on a trip and it was one I'll never forget. 

I followed behind Daddy as he set up the trot lone along the riverbank. To this day, I can't remember if they caught anything or not. 

I was too busy hanging out with my cousins. We were preteens on that trip and we didn't play foolish childhood games anymore. Instead, we cut up and listened to music on the radio. 

I remember that evening we had the radio blaring to "China Grove" when one of our other cousins began to scream in pain. He'd been hooked by his brother who'd thrown his fishing line out while standing too close on the riverbank. Instead of the hook flying into the water as it should have, it ripped into my cousin's flesh. Daddy came to his aid with a trusty pair of pliers. As he and my Uncle Donald were discussing the best way to remove the hook with the least amount of pain, Daddy's suggestion won out. They cut the barb off the hook and pushed it through my cousin's skin. 

It scared the rest of us to death and as we were all chided about the importance of having good distance between each other while casting, I know I was shaking in my shoes. I felt my cousin's pain as he screamed out and I didn't want to experience that again.

He loved to fish!

We all knew Daddy loved fishing and we had several other opportunities to witness him sitting by a riverbank on other trips we'd taken through the years. One of his favorites was to Lake Marvin, an old Girl Scout retreat, way up in North Georgia. 

My brother loved to fish, too, and they'd often spend time together talking about bream, crappie, or catfish. 

Daddy taught all of us to bait a hook, take the fish off the hook, and how to clean the fish. I didn't mind any of that, but I sure didn't like the taste of fish and don't eat it to this day. 

At our old house, Daddy had a folding table he'd set up in the back yard after coming in from a fishing trip. He'd line that table with newspapers and get out tools for cleaning the fish. 

He didn't have fancy stuff. He used a sharp kitchen knife to slit the fish down the belly, showing us how to remove the entrails. Then he'd cut off the head and take a spoon to descale the fish. I always hated when the scales would pop up and stick to my face as we were scaling together. He'd go so fast and I'd try to match his pace, but never learned to do it as quickly. 

After the fish were cleaned, he put them in a big bucket of water and rinse them a time or two before we cooked them on the grill or he'd take them inside for Mama to cook.

At my wedding

When the famous "Billy Bass" singing fish came out one year, we got one for Daddy. He loved that it was motion sensored and whenever someone would walk in front of it, it'd start to sing "Take me to the River." 

But as the years went by and Daddy's health declined, he no longer went fishing. Oh, he loved to talk about it and loved hearing other folks tell about their trips. He really enjoyed hearing details of my brother or my nephew's trips because they'd often kayak when they went fishing.

Daddy's old Ford

Daddy wasn't a man of many words. I think he thought long and hard about what he wanted to say before he said it. Sometimes he'd blow you away with things he said and sometimes, he'd say things to make himself smile at our reaction to what he'd said.

I wish I could talk to him one last time. If I could, I'd tell him I wasn't able to keep his asparagus growing in the garden or tend his blueberries because the property sold not long after Mama went into the nursing home. I think he'd be understanding, but I still feel bad I didn't get to keep that promise I made to him just before he passed away. 

Losing someone dear to you is hard. It's even harder when there's a special holiday each year that brings that person to mind. But I'm thankful for the time I had with my Daddy. I'm glad he didn't mind my being under his feet as he was working on things. I learned so much from him even when he didn't explain what he was doing. 

His quiet strength, his mischievous smile, and his fighting spirit are what I miss most. One day, I'll get to see him again and we'll catch up. Maybe he'll say, "What took you so long?" or "Did ya come to see me?" things he said often as we were growing up. And I'll smile as I do my best to hold back the tears.

How can something so small bring up such a good memory?

 

I'm always amazed how small things can trigger big memories. This morning, while dressing, I pulled out a pair of shoes I'd recently purchased. When I saw them on sale, I knew I had to get them. They were my favorite brand, Alegrias. They're unique shoes made to shift the majority of your weight backward, so it's distributed more on the heel than the ball of the foot. They make standing for long hours very tolerable. I think that's one reason nurses love them so much. 

After getting the shoes on, I walked across the floor to my dresser. As I did, my foot slipped, and I realized these shoes didn't have as much traction as my other Alegrias did. Maybe that's why they were on sale. In that instant, my mind traveled back to the early 70s. 

I'd just begun working for J C Penney. I was working the Junior's department; the place women and teens would shop for trendy clothes. I'd never much cared about clothes except for their comfort factor, but when I started being surrounded by clothing on a daily basis, I started to notice the trends. 

Back then, a lot of my friends from school were getting wooden clogs. They were a popular item that year and of course, I wanted some, too. Since I was working, I knew I could take money from my measly paycheck and buy a pair. If I really wanted them, I'd have to do that because my parents couldn't afford that extra expense. 

I weighed the pros and cons and decided they were worth the $11 I'd have to shell out. (That was a lot back then. My check was only $70 every 2 weeks!)

I bought the shoes and brought them home. Proudly, I strutted across our living room floor in them to show my parents. As I went to take another step, my foot went sliding out from under me and I did my first ever split! I was not only embarrassed, but it hurt. Daddy told me to let him see my shoes. I was afraid he was upset at me buying them, but that wasn't the case. He wanted to see why I had slid in them. 

Holding one of the clogs upside down in his hands, he inspected it. There was rubber on the bottom of the shoes, but it was a very thin layer, and it was smooth. Daddy said that was the problem. 

Taking them out to our garage, he dug in his toolbox for a large nail. As I watched, I wondered what in the world he was going to do. Next, he took his cigarette lighter and popped it into full flame. Holding the nail over it, I watched as the tip got red hot. Then, he took the nail and moved it along the sole of my shoe creating a deep ridge line. He did that over and over again, creating horizontal and vertical ridges. When he was done, he handed the shoes back to me and said, "TA DAH!" (That was his favorite expression for completing something and being pleased with it.)

I was shocked! My brand-new shoes had been branded forever... Holding my head down, I carried my shoes to my room and cried. But then, as I rubbed my fingers across the ridges, I was thankful. My Daddy had cared enough about my health to do what he could to keep me from slipping and breaking my neck. 

The next day at work, as I walked across the slick floors of the department store, I smiled. My Daddy was a smart guy! Who would have thought to have done what he did? 

Now shoes often come nonslip soles. Those are so nice and uniform, done by machines, but I would much rather have the ones my Daddy made. They weren't perfectly straight, but they were evidence of his love and care for me. That's what mattered most. 

Oh, how I wish he was still alive. He'd be surprised to see the various types of shoes people wear today and he'd be really impressed with the condition of the soles, too. 

I know another Father who's concerned about souls, (not soles as in shoes) - our Heavenly Father. And guess what, He's also an engraver. His Word tells us He's engraved us on the palms of His hands. Now that's something to think about. 

"Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are continually before me." Isaiah 49:16

Almost a firecracker

Happy Saturday! Today would have been my Daddy's 90th birthday. It's so hard to believe he's been gone for 11 years now. I sure miss him. He used to always tease and say he was almost a firecracker. He loved the fourth of July and would always shoot off black cats and M80s. Mama was always afraid he was going to blow his hand off because he'd wait until the last minute to throw the firecracker. He loved to put them in tin cans too to hear the loud bang. He would laugh and laugh. Of course, we only got to hold sparklers, but it was so fun to see his boyish excitement over something so simple. 

He'd always stop at roadside stands a few weeks before the holiday to buy fireworks. His parents used to live in Griffin GA which was a little mill town. No one there made more than probably 10,000 a year if that, so little luxuries meant everything. 

On the fourth of July, we'd usually fire up a little charcoal grill in the backyard and cook hotdogs and hamburgers. It was a big deal because we didn't get to do things like that often. Daddy loved cooking out, too. I can still see him shirtless, in his jeans and loafers with his Brylcreem slicked back hair. He'd be sweating like a pig but he loved every minute of it. 

My brother, sister, and I would be running around the yard barefoot playing tag or chase or something and Mama would come out occasionally with her apron tied around her waist to oversee what was happening. 

When it was time to eat, we'd usually go inside because the bugs were bad in the summer, but sometimes, we'd get to eat outside. That was a treat, especially when we had a ripe, juicy watermelon for dessert. Daddy taught us to spit the seeds and we had a blast with red juice running down our chins and yellow jackets buzzing all around. 

There are so many things I remember about him. He was so fun loving but also had a temper at times. I miss him and think of him fondly. 

Losing parents is hard. Even when you're grown and know death is coming, there comes a time when you'd give anything to hear their voice again, to feel their touch, or just sit in their presence. 

Daddy, you were a firecracker in my book and always will be! You were something else! You lit up my sky with your smile.  

Who's your Daddy?

I'll be telling my age when I mention a really cool song by the Zombies - Time of the Season, but I thought it appropriate as I write this post about Father's Day. 

In 1967, the song came out and I fell in love with the melody and the lyrics. The chorus would get stuck in my head and live there for days. See if you remember it -

What's your name? (What's your name?)
Who's your daddy? (Who's your daddy?)
(He rich) Is he rich like me?
Has he taken (Has he taken)
Any time (Any time)
(To show) To show you what you need to live?

(Tell it to me slowly) Tell you what
(I really want to know)
It's the time of the season for loving

You can watch/listen to it on YouTube if you aren't familiar with it: 

https://youtu.be/T8ecsAI3FhY

Anyway, I always wondered about those who had no idea who their Daddy might be. I'm thankful I know who mine was and boy, do I miss him. 

My Daddy was a character. It's hard to believe he's been gone for 11 years now. He was an honest, hardworking man with a great sense of humor. I could write volumes about him but I won't. Instead, I'll share one very special moment from the Caring Bridge journal I kept for him during his last months as he was battling lung cancer.

 
This journal entry was dated Wednesday, June 22, 2011:

....As I was preparing to leave, I leaned down to tell Daddy goodnight and encouraged him to go back to bed. He always thinks he has to stay up until the last visitor leaves. I rubbed him on the back and said "I love you" and to my surprise, he said, "I love you three." "I love you three???" What does that mean? I had to think about it a few minutes until I got it. Usually when someone says I love you, the recipient of that sentiment responds back with "I love you, too."

 
You'd have to know my Daddy. He loves to joke around and so instead of saying, "I love you, too (two)", he said, "I love you three." Daddy never has been a very affectionate father. Oh, he's always loved us, but he just wasn't very vocal about it. I don't guess he ever thought words were really that important. I think he thought if he knew he loved you and you knew he loved you, then why bother wasting words. For him to tell me, "I love you three," was a really powerful statement and one I'll always treasure. Daddy, in his dying state, wanted me to know that he really does love me and though he's a man of very few words, he chose those four very carefully before he said them. Those four words were meant just for me. "I love you three." ...I love you Daddy. I'll always love you.

 
On August 18, 2011, Daddy went home to be with his Eternal Father. I'm sure this Father's day, just like every other day in Heaven, he'll have a grand celebration.

I sure loved him and miss him every single day. 

Weighing in

My Daddy was a complicated and complex man. You'd never know it by the looks of him. He was very quiet and reserved, rarely speaking unless absolutely necessary. I didn't realize it when I was kid, but he weighed his words carefully, never wasting a one. That's a virtue according to the Bible - "Be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry." James 1:19. He did pretty good with 2 out of 3. Not only did Daddy weigh his words, he also loved weighing babies. Whenever a new baby was born into the family, Daddy would pull out a set of old grocery scales. He'd set it up on the kitchen table, line it with a small hand towel, and carefully place the baby onto the curved metal bowl of the scale. Slowly and tenderly, he'd move the weight until the scale was in perfect balance. A gentle smile of satisfaction would cross his face. He'd done it again. After recording the baby's weight, he'd put the scale away until next time. My siblings and I marveled at the way he took such pride and care of that scale. 

As a child, I'd seen that scale in its old rusted state. I don't remember where Daddy said he'd gotten it, but it was unique. I'm pretty sure the scale was iron, it was heavy as lead, that's for sure. 

Daddy scrubbed all the rust off of it with a wire brush and after he'd cleaned it well, he painted it with gold spray paint. It looked almost as good as new. He was proud of it. 

During my childhood, before Daddy painted the scale, Mama would put plastic fake fruit in the bowl of it and sit it on the kitchen table for decoration. Those purple, rubbery grapes and other fruits looked pleasing to the eye, but they were far from it taste wise. I remember plucking a grape off once and trying to eat it. Blech! I spit it out as quickly as I'd popped it in my mouth. 

The Bible speaks a lot about scales, weights and measures. I would love to see photos of some of the tools used for measuring during those times, but I'm not sure there are any available. 

As I was reading my Bible the other day, I came across a verse found in Psalm 62 -

One thing God has spoken, two things I have heard: that you, O God, are strong and that you, O Lord are loving" (Psalm 62:11-12)

That verse made me think back to the scale. I could imagine a heavenly scale. On one side, God's strength. On the other, His love. Both of those attributes to His character were in perfect harmony and balance. 

God is a God of order. Nothing gets out of balance where He's concerned. Even when things seem to be off kilter, He rights them in a hurry because according to His perfect plan, all things are worked out for our good. 

My Daddy was skilled at getting the scales balanced, although it took time and patience. God balances everything via His righteousness. I'm glad He's got it all under control and I can trust Him to keep our crazy world in check, aren't you? Balance - an even distribution of weight enabling something to stay upright or on course. Yeh. He does a good job at that, my God. Yes, He does. 

Freshly mown grass

Me on the far right, sun in my eyes!

This afternoon, I was trying to take a little nap. I don't usually take naps but I really needed one today. I'd been up since 5:00 a.m. and I was dragging so I lay across the bed in our guest room hoping to catch 40 winks. As I lay there with my eyes closed, I heard one of my neighbors on his riding mower. He was out cutting the grass. As he made pass after pass, I couldn't help but remember my childhood. I'd always loved the smell of freshly mown grass because it signified the approach of Summer to me.

Daddy would always get out and cut the grass with his push mower. I took great comfort in knowing he was home and he was busy making our yard look nice. Our yard was very large so that meant Daddy had a lot of pushing to do. Our yard wasn't flat either, so it took some muscle to get that mower up and down the hills. With sweat upon his brow, Daddy worked hard to get the yard done while we were usually playing. We never hired anyone to cut the grass. Daddy was meticulous in performing yard work and I don't think he would've trusted anyone else to do the job as well as he did.

Years later, after we were grown and our parents had moved to another house, Daddy got a riding mower. We were all thankful he wouldn't have to struggle against that push mower any longer. It didn't take him long to cut the grass at their new location. The yard there was much smaller and very flat. Sometimes, when I'd go over to visit, I'd pull into the driveway to see him circling around on the riding mower. He'd smile and throw up his hand in a wave.

I'm on the back row between my Mom and my Aunt

But usually a few weeks before Easter, Daddy would stop mowing the grass. He'd let it get tall and shaggy. He knew, when we were children, Mama would want to hide Easter eggs and short grass isn't good for hiding. Later on, as we started having our own families, Daddy did the same thing for the grandchildren. We'd all gather at my parent's house for a huge Easter egg hunt with all the little ones. After a huge dinner of ham, potato salad, green beans, rolls, and some kind of dessert, we'd take the children outside and let them run wild and free through the tall grass. Daddy would laugh as he'd watch them head out and then he'd watch for the one child not finding quite as many eggs as the others. He'd make a special point of going to help that one fill their basket. In my mind's eye, I can still see him stooping low to point out an egg hidden beneath a bush or lifting a little one to retrieve an egg hidden in the V of a tree. We all had such fun back then!

As the neighbor finished up the last few passes on his lawn, I began to tear up. I hadn't realized how much I've missed my Daddy. Easter will be here in a few days and as I walk out to my car to go to church, I'm sure I'm going to glance around my yard hoping to see an egg hidden here or there. But there won't be any. None of my grandchildren will be with us this year for the holiday. They have plans with their own families, and that's okay. At least I have precious memories of Daddy at Easter and the smell of freshly mown grass to remind me of days long past.

Isn't it funny how something like listening to the soothing sounds of a lawnmower running can bring up memories like that? I hope you have some special memories stored away, too.

Step into my mind

it's time to do another train of thought exercise and today seemed like the perfect day i just got home from the grocery store and what an experience that was i don't usually go to the store by myself because it's difficult with the swelling in my arms hubby usually carries the groceries for me and makes my life easier but he was working today and we were out of a lot of things and it just made sense for me to go while i had the opportunity there were so many people there and i wondered why none of these folks worked during the middle of the week the store was like a bee hive people buzzing all around spending money and getting ready for the weekend and that's basically why i was there too getting ready for the weekend as i shopped i saw halloween decorations in almost every department i'd gone to walmart to do my grocery shopping since i didn't have to buy any meat this time i don't like to buy meat at walmart because i don't trust it i've seen people lay unwanted meat on random shelves throughout the store and i'm sure the stockers pick it up and take it back to the proper department even though they have no idea how long the meat has been lying around and that scares me meat not held at proper temperature is very dangerous and people can get very sick from it i've had food poisoning before and i don't ever want to go through that again as i was about to check out i passed the row with halloween candy and saw a big back of assorted treats inside the bag were reese's peanut butter cups whoppers milk duds and many more little tiny mini candies i threw a bag into the cart and headed toward checkout to pay i had some nice conversation with the woman in front of me she'd just moved here from illinois and she was marveling at the hot weather she had a huge basket full of bedding plants and was looking forward to planting some pansies and dusty miller i commented on the dusty miller and told her i loved to feel the leaves on it because they were so soft and silky she probably thought i was a nut but i didn't care after all my groceries had been bagged and i'd loaded them into my cart i walked across the parking lot to my car after unloading the groceries i locked the car and walked to the buggy rack to return my cart driving home was quick because the traffic was light as soon as i pulled into my driveway i opened the carport door and began unloading the merchandise the bags were heavy and i wished my husband was available to help me but since he wasn't i just made a dozen trips piling the groceries on the table and on the countertops i knew it would take me another twenty minutes to get everything sorted out and put away i glance at the clock it is already 2 and i haven't eaten lunch yet when the last can goes into the pantry i pop a meal into the microwave i want something quick and easy i wait 4 minutes and thirty seconds and then sit in front of the tv in my recliner sitting there with my feet propped up i eat my lunch and watch a documentary on the execution process of prisoners on death row as i am watching i am reminded there is a prisoner in georgia slated to be put to death today his name is gregory lawler and he's convicted of killing two police officers i struggle with the death penalty i know the bible says an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth but do we really have the right to judge and do we really have the right to end a life i don't think so i believe those rights belong solely to god and therefore i believe in life imprisonment instead of the death penalty the television show gives interesting facts about the days leading up to a prisoner's death and how every hour of their last day is spent they even go into great detail about how the last meal is prepared and how there's a dollar limit set for the amount of food purchased for that last meal and each state has a different limit there's a special prison chef who prepares the meals for the prisoners and he says he enjoys his job they go over the process of keeping witnesses for the prisoner and the victim's family separate at the execution and how they test equipment beforehand to make sure there are no slip ups and how the inmate has a right to talk with the prison pastor to make sure his soul is right before he dies there's so much they consider and so much the public probably doesn't know and i think it's a good thing we have a justice system in place even though i don't agree with killing someone i continue to watch and they're talking about placing a natural sea sponge soaked in water into the inside of the cap that goes on the prisoner's head when he's to be electrocuted they shave his head and the sea sponge soaked in water helps conduct the electricity they said there was a man in the past whose head was not shaved before electrocution and his hair caught fire and sparks were shooting out from under the metal helmet and the flames were everywhere and it was terrible i don't know how i can even watch this while eating but i do because it's interesting and i think i have a criminal mind after i finish my microwave meal i walk back to the kitchen for a sweet treat i just want a little something and i remember that big bag of halloween candy in the pantry i rip open the bag and look inside there are several of my favorites candies i reach for one and find i've pulled out a miniature pack of whoppers those have always been a favorite since childhood as i pop open the package and squeeze one of the malted milk balls to the top of the plastic tube they're in i let it fall into my open mouth immediately i'm transported to the early 60's i'm standing in the middle of my living room and my dad is in his chair watching tv he loves whoppers too and he's holding a milk carton type container full of the candy and he's shaking it and laughing i can hear his laugh like it was yesterday he laughs again and rattles the whoppers in their container i hear the balls rolling around and banging against the inside of the cardboard container then he tips the carton up to his lips as several balls fall into his mouth i stand close by and ask him if i can have a few and he smiles a big smile and shakes the candies into my small hand i can hold about ten candies and i'm happy when he fills my hand to the brim i sit on the sofa holding my treasure and slip a chocolaty ball into my mouth as the candy coating melts on my tongue i get a hint of malt flavor and i look up to see my daddy watching me his mouth full of malted milk balls and his cheeks look like chipmunk cheeks i want to copy him so i do the same thing and put more milk balls in my mouth i can't hold many but try to stuff five into each side of my mouth when i smile at my daddy my mouth hurts because of the tension the smile creates across the lumpy melty milk balls daddy tells me i have chocolate teeth and that makes me smile even bigger i like that he's smiling too and we keep eating until we are stuffed with malty flavor for a few minutes i sit in my recliner letting the taste of the milk balls transport me through time back into my childhood for a glimpse at that special time once again there weren't many memories like that for me with my daddy and that's why this food trigger is so memorable as i crumple the candy wrapper my memory begins to fade away and i think how good it was to relive that special time and i'm thankful for the halloween candy and how that little pack of whoppers made me feel today and just think if i hadn't bought them i would have missed stepping back into time isn't it funny how most of our memories are tied to food just the sight or smell or taste of something can spark a recessed memory and call it forth with ease our minds are amazing and god surely is the master of creation no eye has seen no ear has heard no heart has imagined what god has prepared for those who love him i am grateful for my heavenly father who loves me so well and i'm also grateful for my earthly father who sometimes took the time to make me feel special and share a smile with me over a childhood treat